


i wove my webs for you because i liked you

by blackwood (transjon)



Category: The Magnus Archives (Podcast)
Genre: Developing Relationship, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Web!Martin, i dont know what the archive tag for this is but martin gives him people to eat, martin is raised by mr spider. mr spider is a sentient spider., mr spider knows TOO MUCH, murder by proxy?, precanon to season 2 ish, sorry the jomartin isnt exactly the most important part of this and its kinda vague too, vaguely canon compliant, youve heard of horse girls now get ready for spider boys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-11
Updated: 2020-02-11
Packaged: 2021-02-27 19:20:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,298
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22670875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/transjon/pseuds/blackwood
Summary: Mr. Spider sits in his house and waits and waits and grows impatient by the day, and when there’s a knock on the door, finally,finally, he skitters to the door, all eight legs scrambling for traction, eager to finallyeat.He swings open the door and then comes to an unsure, stuttering halt when what fills the boy’s eyes isn’t fear, but something strangely close toexcitement.“My name is Martin,” the boy says immediately, “and I’ve never seen a spider your size before.”
Relationships: Martin Blackwood/Jonathan Sims, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 66
Kudos: 620





	i wove my webs for you because i liked you

**Author's Note:**

> the title is from charlottes web
> 
> this is for a prompt - "Once upon a time, a boy wandered into a spider's lair. But the boy loved spiders, and wasn't afraid. So he spoke to the spider, about his sick mother, his trouble at school and his love of tea. By the end of his visit, the spider had grown quite attached to the boy, and almost didn't let him leave. But he did, and the boy continued to visit as he grew older. His boy does have a knack for getting into trouble though, so Mr Spider made sure to keep tabs on him boy, even now that he has wandered into the domain of the Eye.
> 
> Martin grew up partially being cared for by Mr Spider. He's not truly claimed by the Web, at least not yet, but does have a degree of supernatural protection that comes with a mother-henning monster spider making sure you don't end up someone's meal."
> 
> i ran with it. if you have arachnophobia wtf are you doing here

It’s not as common as you’d perhaps imagine that someone comes knocking on the door, these days. 

It didn’t used to be that way – children used to fall through his door at least once a week. Mr. Spider used to eat well. Not anymore. 

Maybe children simply don’t read as much anymore. Maybe their parents are better at checking potential purchases for age appropriate content. He couldn’t tell, really. He just sits in his house and waits and waits and grows impatient by the day, and when there’s a knock on the door, finally, _finally_ , he skitters to the door, all eight legs scrambling for traction, eager to finally _eat_.

He swings open the door and then comes to an unsure, stuttering halt when what fills the boy’s eyes isn’t fear, but something strangely close to _excitement._

“My name is Martin,” the boy says immediately, “and I’ve never seen a spider your size before.”

There’s something so strange about human children, Mr. Spider thinks. They can be so naive and stupid and _strange_ , but this is the first time one has taken his existence as a simple reality, who has approached the situation this way. Martin is still talking, too –

“I saw you in a book. I wanted so badly to meet you. That’s why I came.” 

If any of his eyes had eyelids, Mr. Spider would blink at this. This smiling boy saying _I found you, on my own, out of my own free will._ He doesn’t know what to do with this. It feels like eating him would be wrong. Like it’d make him taste bad, this lack of fear. 

“Why?” his voice rumbles throughout the house. Martin looks down.

“I thought maybe we could be friends.”

Mr. Spider has never had a friend before, he thinks. He’s not even sure what a friend _is_ , exactly – all of his contact with humans so far has been limited to luring them in and eating them. 

Martin can sense him hesitate. “I can leave,” he says, rejected. 

Something about that triggers a feeling, an emotion within him. He says, “no. Stay a while.” And even if he’s never had a friend, even if he doesn’t care about humans unless he’s about to eat them, it makes him feel good to see Martin smile at him. Wide, toothy, so trusting. 

Martin talks at him for such a long time. Mr. Spider isn’t exactly one for conversation, but he listens as best as he can. Most of what he says means nothing to him, although he does cling to some of the words – Lonely. Sad. Alone. And some others – Mum. Jeremy. Mark. The first one he says with sadness like he’d said _sad_ and _lonely_ and _alone_ , but the last two he says with something like anger. Something that Mr. Spider knows all too well. 

Eventually he gets tired of standing in the doorway. He says _I think it’s time for you to go home now._ When the boy, with tears in his big eyes, begs _let me stay,_ Mr. Spider simply says _no._

“Bring me someone else,” he says. 

Mr. Spider opens the door back into the dark, windy autumn night. Martin tears up again, and for a moment Mr. Spider thinks he’s going to protest ( – and he truly doesn’t know if he’d be able to let him go a second time – ) but then he nods. He walks back out, and Mr. Spider closes the door behind him. In the kitchen he opens the lid of the fruit fly bowl he’d set up and grabs a few dozen.

–

He comes back.

The boy he brings with him has an unpleasant face. Mr. Spider doesn’t know why, other than that he doesn’t like it. The boy knocks on the door, that tranced look in his eyes Mr. Spider knows so well, and he can see Martin on the bottom of the steps, beaming brightly up at him. He grabs this boy’s shirt with one spindly, hairy leg and pulls him inside. 

Behind the closed door he eats, and eats, and eats, finally full again. 

He opens the door again a little after. He can sense Martin on the other side of the door, restraining himself from knocking. He doesn’t say anything when he sees him, but he does smile weakly. 

Mr. Spider hopes he isn’t regretting what he’d done. There’s nothing to be done about it now. 

“I’m glad you took him,” Martin says, a tone that says he knows he shouldn’t be. 

“I’m glad you brought him,” Mr. Spider says. And he is. “How did you do it?”

Martin smiles. “I just pretended to read your book in class and he took it from me. He always takes my books.”

And Mr. Spider, despite only having met him just a short while ago, already feels proud of him.

–

Martin doesn’t bring anyone to him for a while after.

It’s not a disappointment, exactly, to see him on the porch instead of someone who’s there to, well, get _eaten_ , but they’re two different feelings, and sometimes he’s really very hungry when he knocks. 

“Hi,” says Martin, and then he pushes inside. “I brought homework.”

He’s weird. Mr. Spider doesn’t want him to go away, exactly, but he never knows what to do with him. Not exactly like he knows what to do with a human, still. They don’t weave webs. They just follow him home and taste good. And if Martin is to be used as an example, they never shut up.

He talks about a lot of things, and Mr. Spider can hardly follow it – he talks about tea, and his mum, and school, and he talks about how his mum is sick again and how he tries so hard to take care of her but she never seems to get better. 

“Do your homework,” he finally interrupts him. He figures it must be important. Martin closes his mouth, and he opens his notebook. Mr. Spider wonders if this is how his mum talks to him. Martin writes down in his notebook for a long, long time, and when he offers him a fruit fly he makes a dismissive noise and Mr. Spider goes to stand in the back garden for a while. It’s a beautiful day. He weaves a little web and catches a few butterflies. 

When he comes back Martin is packing up. He looks up at him when he hears the skitter of his legs, and then, unexpectedly, he hugs him. Well, really he just presses his body against whatever part of his front he can, but he can tell that’s what it’s supposed to be. 

It feels weird. Mr. Spider knows, at this moment, he will never eat Martin, even if he never brings anyone back to him again.

–

It’s a long time before the next person Martin brings.

This one isn’t dazed. Martin’s gotten rid of the book by now. This boy he’s led to him with persuasion alone, and Mr. Spider sharply remembers the pride he’d felt when he’d tricked that other boy into taking his book, such a long time ago now.

“This house,” Martin says from outside, “this is where she lives. And remember – just be yourself.”

“Right,” says the other voice. He knocks. Mr. Spider opens the door, trembling with excitement, and the teenager screams in terror when he grabs him by the front of his shirt and throws him into his huge mouth. 

He wonders if the boy remembered to be himself. By the guilty grin on Martin’s face he guesses he probably did.

–

“Mr. Spider,” Martin exhales sadly, “I feel lonely.”

Mr. Spider isn’t good at ages, or aging, or numbers. Or time. But suddenly he’s very aware of how old Martin’s gotten. Probably almost as old as the oldest he’s had, as a meal.

“Why?” asks Mr. Spider. “You have me.”

Martin shrugs. 

“Martin?”

Martin looks away, and then back at him, into all eight of his unblinking eyes. “My mum doesn’t like me,” he says, and then he tears up. 

Mr. Spider has no idea what to do. He reaches out with one leg and pats him on the shoulder, awkwardly, stiffly. He wants to say “I’m sure that’s not true” but it probably is, based on how absolutely _sure_ he seems to be of it.

“I like you,” he says. Trying to convince him that his mum likes him seems like fighting a losing battle and Mr. Spider is, above all, pragmatic. 

“I like you too,” Martin sighs tearily.

Mr. Spider, for a second, thinks about hugging him. He doesn’t try to.

–

A few weeks later Martin comes by with a thermos full of tea. Mr. Spider fetches honey from the kitchen and allows him to pour them each a mug.

“How’s school?” he remembers to ask.

“Oh, um,” Martin says quietly, “I had to drop out. For mum.”

Mr. Spider isn’t sure what that means, exactly, but he gathers it’s not good. “I’m sorry, Martin,” he says. He doesn’t say anything about how he’d been so sure his mum doesn’t even like him. How he’d talked about how he wished anything he did would be enough to make her love him. He thinks about eating her. 

“That’s okay.”

They sit in silence for a while. He finishes the tea. While Martin slowly sips on his own, he grooms his own face with two of his front legs awkwardly, unsure of what to do or say. 

Mr. Spider wonders if he can do anything for him. Change something. Something other than getting rid of his mother – something he will appreciate. Something _nice._ Martin leaves, eventually, and he watches him go, furry face just barely peeking out into the street. 

Mr. Spider pulls some strings later that night, and goes to sleep smiling, swinging from the ceiling by his legs, knowing that in the morning Martin will receive an anonymous gift, with the message “I know how hard you work to take care of your mum, and I admire it.” It’ll be a little stack of hundred pound notes. He will try to return it, but without a name he won’t be able to. He will keep it in the back of his wardrobe for a few weeks, and then he will take it to the bank, and then, in a few months when he has to pay rent and buy groceries from the same paycheque he will use some of it, and he will tear up at the register. 

The person it came from won’t miss it. Mr. Spider makes sure of it.

–

“I got a new job,” Martin says after Mr. Spider opens the door.

He’s had a good week already – he’s had one human, and in the back garden his webs have caught so many bugs he’s had to struggle to eat all of them, and eventually take down one of the webs. It’s been a while since he’s had to do that. 

“Tell me more,” he says, ushering Martin in, “tell me more. Make tea while you’re at it, please.”

Martin does. Mr. Spider listens and while he listens he feels watched. Seen. He feels unsettled.

“Martin,” he says at the door, Martin halfway out already. “Watch out, please. Just be careful.”

Martin smiles at him, toothy, self assured. “I can take care of myself.”

And Mr. Spider thinks about the boy he’d led to him by the hand, who he’d served to him on a silver platter, and he thinks _yes, yes you can_.

–

“Here,” he says when he opens the door for Martin, “I made you this.”

It’s a little brooch. He’d made it himself – his silk, and a safety pin. He’d spun it into a neat miniature spider’s web, good and sturdy. 

Martin takes it into his hands. “It’s beautiful,” he says finally. “Thank you.”

Mr. Spider makes a low rumbly sound, pleased. Aside from beautiful, it’s a charm. A protection. A safety measure. He can feel the approaching presence of the Eye, and he’s been trying to figure out a way to lay claim on him, to say _leave him alone. He’s mine. He’s protected. He’s marked. I’ve dogeared him and set him down for later_. 

Martin isn’t Web yet, but he will be, Mr. Spider is sure. He’s not going to let Jonah Magnus touch Martin, no matter what poor soul’s skin he’s wearing this time.

–

Martin still talks about bullies. They look different, now.

For example –

“I think he hates me,” he says. “I try. I don’t know what’s so wrong with me.”

Mr. Spider stomps one of his legs. “Bring him to me.”

“No,” Martin says with finality in his voice, “He doesn’t deserve that.”

“Don’t I deserve to eat?” 

Martin gives him an angry look. “You ate yesterday. Shut up.”

Mr. Spider sulks. He makes a little web. Martin rolls his eyes. “Do you want to hear more or are you just going to salivate over the idea of eating him?”

Mr. Spider pulls the web back in. 

Martin settles back into his story, and his eyes, when he talks about this man – his boss, his _Jon_ –, shine the way they had the first time he’d opened his door and Martin had seen his huge spider face. This hunger for acceptance. This eagerness for connection. 

Mr. Spider accepts it for now. When he gets over this, when he understands that he will get hurt, eventually, he will bring him to him, just like he’d done twice before.

–

Mr. Spider hears about him being trapped in his apartment by agents of the Corruption way too late into it. He curses to himself, quietly, and then he arranges for someone to watch him, just to make sure he’s okay. It leaves him alone eventually, for now, at least. He’s sure it doesn’t care about the brooch, but the assistants he sends can be very persuasive.

Jonathan Sims is plainly, obviously the next Archivist. Mr. Spider makes sure he believes Martin when he tells him his story, although he’s surprised to find that he needs no nudging, to either believe him or to offer him a room in the Archives. The Archives are hardly safe themselves, but they’ll do. 

After the worms emerge and the Stranger takes one of theirs, Mr. Spider’s own agents make sure Martin makes it out okay.

–

“Mr. Spider,” Martin says from behind the door, “I want you to meet my friend. Don’t eat him. This isn’t a snack friend. I like this one.”

Mr. Spider opens the door. True to his word, next to Martin there’s a scrawny, dark haired man. He’s covered in scars, the same ones he can see on Martin. He can smell the Flesh Hive on them both. The other man looks at him with fear, and while he does so Mr. Spider becomes uncomfortably aware of every window in his house. Every opening the Eye can watch him from. 

So this is Jonathan Sims. The next Archivist. He would wrinkle his nose if he had one. 

“Come in,” he says politely. He can see Martin squeeze the other man’s hand, lightly, and then he pulls him in behind him. _Friend_ , he thinks. _Sure._

Jonathan Sims, the next Archivist is obviously afraid of him. Mr. Spider pays it no mind. He sips Martin’s tea and absently scratches his side with one of his legs. Martin talks non-stop, as is typical, and Mr. Spider listens half-heartedly. He watches Jonathan Sims. He doesn’t think he knows of his powers yet. 

Jonathan Sims listens to Martin with a look of intense focus on his face. He thinks he remembers Martin talking about him before, and finally it clicks – Jonathan Sims, the future Archivist is the same person as Jon, his boss. Mr. Spiders eyes sharpen and he clicks his mouth in half-instinctual warning. Jonathan Sims jumps in his seat, and Martin pauses mid sentence. 

“Please be nice,” he says, “it took me so long to convince him to come with me.”

“He isn’t nice to you,” Mr. Spider says.

“He is now,” Martin says insistently. 

There’s a flash of guilt in Jonathan Sims’ eyes that Mr. Spider catches. He’s not convinced, but he settles down for the time being.

He leaves eventually, like he always does. He no longer lingers in the doorway, wanting to stay longer, wanting to stay with him. He hardly ever talks about his mum these days, either. Sometimes when he knocks on the door Mr. Spider expects to see him like he was when he was much younger – a messy mop of hair on his round childish head, in mismatched clothes, huge book bag on his shoulder. But now he’s all grown up. 

It feels weird. He watches the two of them leave. Jonathan Sims turns back to look at him when they walk, and Mr. Spider clicks his mouth disapprovingly. He almost slips on the icy ground, and the sight makes Mr. Spider fill with vindication.

–

(He wishes he could do something about the Web Table and what might happen with it eventually but it’s so high up above his status, and with what else has been done to it – no way for him to do anything, not even warn Martin – the best he can do is make sure he doesn’t get hurt. As for his Archivist –

Well, the best he can do is hope. Reluctantly, maybe. But he hopes, just a little bit.)

–

Jonathan Sims comes by, on his own, one night.

“Hey,” he says, “Martin said that if you eat me he’ll tell Elias.”

It’s obvious neither Martin nor Jon knows why that would be a threat, but Mr. Spider shivers nonetheless. He hadn’t even considered how bad it would be for him if he were to eat a future Avatar, let alone the Archivist. He lets Jonathan in, reluctantly.

“What do you want?” he asks.

“I want to – I want to talk to you about Martin. About me being his friend.”

“You don’t need my permission to be his _friend_.”

Jonathan sucks in a breath through his teeth. It’s obvious he, too, feels weird about the word. 

“I don’t want your permission,” he lies, “but you’re important to Martin, and he’s important to you. I think you probably don’t have the best, erm, picture of me.”

Mr. Spider makes a noncommittal noise.

“I’ve been an asshole to him, but I’m trying. I want to be good. I want to – I want to be his friend. I like him.”

“He deserves people who are nice to him,” Mr. Spider says sharply. Jonathan takes a breath. “I want to be nice to him.”

Mr. Spider walks around the room once. He thinks about the face of that teenager right before he ate him. He thinks of Martin’s voice after he’d eaten the first person he’d brought him.

“You know,” he says, “he’s not as sweet as you think.”

“I know,” Jonathan says quietly.

“You don’t,” Mr. Spider says. “You don’t know him.”

Jonathan doesn’t protest. Good for him. They exist together in a tense silence, until Mr. Spider finally sighs. “Fine,” he says. “But I protect him. You do anything to him and I _will_ get you.”

It’s an empty promise, now. Jonah Magnus would destroy him in a heartbeat. Jonathan doesn’t need to know that.

Jonathan smiles weakly. “Deal,” he says. 

He slips into the night. Mr. Spider watches him go, and when he disappears he goes back inside. 

In the kitchen his fruit flies have multiplied enough that he can bury his head in the bowl and eat as many as he can fit into his mouth without worrying. He thinks about Martin. He thinks about making a brooch for Jonathan as well. 

Maybe later. Maybe if he shows he’s good enough.

**Author's Note:**

> im on tumblr! blqckwoods.tumblr.com


End file.
